


The Kindness Of Strangers

by siriusblue



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Greg, Protective Greg, Teen Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-15 16:38:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11809968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusblue/pseuds/siriusblue
Summary: The ink is barely dry on Greg Lestrade's art degree certificate and he is looking forward to training as an art teacher. One memorable Saturday he comes across Mycroft Holmes who changes Greg's perception on a lot of things.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a Tumblr! Come and play...  
> redgreyandpurple.tumblr.com

THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS.

Chapter One.

Rating: Explicit. For sex, violence and homophobic abuse.

Summary. The ink is barely dry on Greg Lestrade’s art degree certificate and he’s looking forward to training as an art teacher. One memorable Saturday a certain Mycroft Holmes comes into his life and changes his perspective on everything. From Greg’s POV.

I was walking home after the game, still high on victory, my matchday programme stuffed in the back pocket of my jeans and my Arsenal scarf snug around my neck. The first home game of the season was always an important day, my Dad and I never missed if we could help it. He would have loved the fact that we had utterly stuffed Newcastle. I felt a pang, right then. A whole year since he had died and grief still tripped me up on occasion. Home for tea and then out for a few beers. Perfect Saturday.

I turned the corner and stopped dead, unsure for a second as to what I was seeing.

One man cowering against the wall, a paper-wrapped parcel clutched to his chest while a fat skinhead screamed at him.

 

“You fucking poof!”

Smack. It was a dull sound as the punch connected with the young man’s face, swiftly followed by another and he dropped like a stone.

“Fucking queer bastard!” snarled the skinhead, driving his foot into the other man’s side.

I had reached them by this time and the coward that he was, the skinhead took off, still spouting abuse over his shoulder.

I leaned over to the man on the pavement. He wasn’t much younger than me, I noticed.

“Hey, “I said. He flinched, trying desperately to cover his face and hold onto his parcel at the same time.

“It’s okay,” I continued. “He’s gone. Here, let me help you up.”

He uncurled and looked up at me with aquamarine eyes, one of which was swelling rapidly. There was a washboard scrape on the opposite cheek as well and when he stood up he groaned, clutching at his side.

“Thank you, “he muttered. His accent was most definitely not local, so what was a posh boy doing round here?

I knew a lot of them from art college, some of them liked a bit of rough, others liked to slum it, but he didn’t seem the type. He still looked terrified.

“Thank you so very much, I thought he was going to kill me.”

“Let’s walk, “I suggested. It wasn’t the best of times to be standing chatting, not with several hundred pissed off Newcastle fans willing to have a go at anything in Arsenal colours.

“I live just around the corner,” I said. “My mum’s a nurse, she’ll fix you up.”

“That’s very kind of you,” he said as we started to walk, him wincing with every step.

“I’m Greg,”

“Mycroft.”

I kept glancing sidelong at him. Tangled dark red hair, marginally taller than me, carrying a bit more weight than he should be and very conservative clothes, dirty from rolling around on the pavement and a dark stain at the crotch of his trousers betrayed the fact that he’d pissed himself.

We arrived at my house and I flung the front door open yelling for my mother. The air was redolent with cooking smells and my mum came barrelling out of the kitchen when she heard me.

“Greg? What are you yelling for? Oh…”

She had noticed Mycroft standing sheepishly behind me, probably wishing he was anywhere but here.

“What happened?” she asked.

“He’s been beaten up, Mum.” I explained. “I couldn’t just leave him there, could I? They might have come back.”

“Of course not. Greg, go and find me the first aid box, will you? Come into the kitchen, dear,” she said to Mycroft. “Let me take a proper look at you.”

I found the first aid kit and hurried back downstairs to find Mycroft stripped to the waist, cringing as my mum poked and prodded him while asking him non-stop questions.

He had beautiful skin, I noticed. Pale and dusted with golden freckles. The hair on his chest was the same deep red as that on his head and just looking at him gave me a swooping sensation in my stomach, one I recognised too well.

A heavy bruise on Mycroft’s right side sickened me. That was where the bastard had put the boot in.

“What on earth were you doing round here?” My mum was in full interrogation mode now.

“I came to this area to buy a present for my little brother. He starts secondary school in September.” He gestured to the parcel. “He wanted a new microscope. That was fine until I realised I was utterly lost. I asked that man for directions and…”

“And that was when he took offence,” said my mum, completing his sentence.

There were tears in Mycroft’s eyes now, and I felt furious when I realised that the man who had put them there and who had marred his beautiful skin was almost certainly going to get away with it.

“Yes. If it hadn’t been for your Greg, I don’t know how it would have ended.”

“Badly,” she replied. “I don’t think your ribs are broken but you are going to be very sore for a few weeks. Now hold this on your bad eye, it’ll bring down the swelling.” she handed him a tea towel full of ice cubes and he did as he was told.” And I’ll clean up your face.”

I handed he the cotton wool and iodine and sat at the table next to Mycroft. I loved watching my mum work, she made everything look so effortless. She cleaned his face and I had to choke down a laugh when he yelled loud enough to expel his larynx when Mum dabbed on the iodine.  
“Don’t be such a baby,” she scolded, but she was smiling. “There, you’ll do. Is there anyone I can ring for you? Your parents?”

Mycroft grimaced.

“They’re not here at the moment, they’re in Switzerland with my brother. I start at Cambridge in September, I suppose they might be back for that. And Sherlock starting school.”

Mum and I exchanged glances over the table. Who on earth called their kids Mycroft and Sherlock? Very posh people, obviously. Being called Gregory was bad enough but I bet the two brothers had had their share of being picked on with names like that.

“Is anyone looking after you?” I asked.

He smiled then, even though it obviously pained him to do so.

“I’m eighteen, I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I’m twenty-one and I still need my Mum,” I retorted, embarrassed.

“Behave,” said Mum warningly.

“I’ll be fine, Mrs…er...”

“Lestrade.”

“Lestrade. If I may use your phone, I can call a taxi.”

“Yes, of course, it’s in the hall.”

He stood up, his breath a hiss and looked sadly at his ruined shirt.

“Here,” I said, pulling off the sweatshirt I was wearing,” You can borrow this.”

He smiled his thanks and went out into the hall. I heard his voice as he spoke on the phone and then returned to the kitchen.

“The taxi will be here in five minutes. I can’t thank you both enough for your kindness.”

“It was nothing,” said Mum. “Greg’s always had the softest heart in the world. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Whereas I thought I might just die of embarrassment.

“I will return this, “he said, pointing to the sweatshirt and I merely nodded, articulate as ever.

A car horn peeped outside. His taxi had arrived.

“I’ll see you out, “I said getting to my feet.

In the hallway, there was so much I wanted to say, but couldn’t.

“Goodbye, Mycroft,” was the best I could come up with.

He smiled and I felt the swooping sensation again.

“Not quite, Greg. I promise I will see you again, even if it’s only to return your shirt.”

He opened the front door and stepped into the waiting black cab and I stood and watched him drive off.

Mum was tidying up in the kitchen when I returned.

“Are you ready for your tea, love?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I replied, distractedly. What I really wanted was to be upstairs with my sketch pad trying to capture a likeness of my enigmatic new acquaintance.

Just in case I never saw him again, despite what he said.

I had learned never to trust promises.

 

TBC


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a misunderstanding needs cleared up as Mycroft learns a little more about his rescuer.

CHAPTER TWO

 

A/N: Warnings, etc in Chapter One.

 

I got home from work a couple of days later to find my mum in the living room with the most gorgeous bouquet of flowers. She was carefully rearranging them into our one and only vase before getting up and putting them on the mantelpiece.

 

“They’re lovely,” I remarked. “Got yourself an admirer, then?”

 

She glared at me before bursting out laughing.

 

“Hardly. They’re from that boy you brought home the other night. He came around with them this afternoon. Brought back your sweatshirt too.”

 

She indicated the garment on the coffee table.

 

“Mycroft was here?” I asked stupidly, a sick, plummeting feeling in my stomach.

 

“He stayed long enough for a cup of tea,” she continued, oblivious to my misery. “He’s very nice. Lonely, I think. We had a nice chat.”

 

“Oh,” was all I could think of to say. I picked up the sweatshirt, noting how it had been washed and pressed neatly.

 

“He was sorry you weren’t here, though. He left you his phone number, said he’d buy you a drink to say thank you.”

 

And suddenly the sun was shining again.

 

“Thanks, “I said gruffly, taking the proffered piece of paper from her. “I might ring him.”

 

She gave me a very knowing look which did very little for my composure.

 

“After tea,” she said firmly. “It’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

 

I bolted what was on my plate, did the washing up and went upstairs to my bedroom, rehearsing what to say when I made the call. I wasn’t what you would call the nervous type, but there was something about him that gave me the jitters, in the best possible way.

 

I would be casual, I decided. No pressure. It was just a thank you drink, after all. Then he’d disappear to Cambridge and I would go about learning to be a teacher. His likeness looked up at me from my sketch pad. It was definitely one of my better efforts, but that wasn’t the reason I spent so long gazing at it.

 

“No need to look so smug,” I told it, then realised I was talking to myself and went down to the hall where the phone was. My hand was trembling when I picked up the receiver and dialled the number.

 

“Holmes residence,” said a voice on the other end and I damn near dropped the receiver. His family had _staff_?

 

“Er, I’d like to speak with Mycroft, please. Tell him it’s Greg Lestrade.”

 

“It’s me, Greg. “The voice sounded amused and I was pleased no one could see how much I was blushing.

 

“Oh, hi. My mum gave me your number. Something about a drink?”

 

“To say thank you. If you want to, that is.”

 

“Yeah, I’d like that.” I replied, hoping I didn’t sound as flustered as I felt. Then I had a brainwave.

 

“Instead of a drink, how would you like to meet me at the National Gallery? There’s a new exhibition on there that I’ve been dying to see.”

 

“I think I’d prefer that, “he said, sounding relieved. “I’m not really one for pubs.”

 

“I’m off on Thursday,” I said. “Are you free then?”

 

“Yes, I’ll meet you there. Ten o’clock?”

 

“Ten’s fine. It’s the one in Trafalgar Square.”

 

“I know,” he replied, cool amusement in his voice. “See you then.”

 

He ended the call. I tried very hard not to spend the rest of the night with a big grin on my face, but it was a losing battle.

 

Mum woke me on Thursday morning by slamming the front door and groaning loudly. She hated working nights and I guessed, correctly, that it had been a terrible shift. I made her sit down and plied her with hot coffee and toast.

 

“Bless you, my son,” she groaned as she eased off her shoes. “My bloody feet!” She took a long draught of coffee and slumped in the chair with her eyes closed.

 

“If you don’t get a move on, you’ll be late for your date.”

 

“It’s not a date!” I protested. She opened one eye.

 

“So why are you wearing your best shirt? Good grief, you’ve even ironed your jeans! Not a date, my arse.”

 

“Got to go, “I said huffily.

 

“I won’t wait up,” were her last words as I slammed out of the house and headed for the bus stop.

 

I made it with seconds to spare and spotted Mycroft leaning against one of the pillars, his hands in his pockets. His eye looked puffy and the bruising was turning yellow but it only drew attention to the fairness of his skin. He looked incredible in a crisp white shirt and dark blue cords and I smiled as I walked towards him.

 

“Hello, Greg,” he said and extended his hand for me to shake.

 

“Hi,” I replied. His handshake was firm and his hand was warm and smooth and I hung on probably longer than I should have, but he was in no hurry to take his hand away either.

 

“Let’s go in, “I said, leading the way. The exhibition I wanted to see was the Pre-Raphaelites but, even this early, it was packed.

 

“There’s a lot more than this to see, “I told him. As we progressed through the gallery I pointed out some of my favourites, enthusing wildly about technique, brushstrokes and the use of light until I noticed he was smiling.

 

“Sorry, “I said. “I tend to get carried away and bore the pants of people.”

 

“No wonder you wanted to come here,” Mycroft said, looking around him. “And don’t apologise, I love it when people are passionate about things.”

 

“I was warned off studying things I love,” I told him. “But I did it anyway. I’ve got a degree in fine art.”

 

He looked surprised but then smiled again. I could get used to that smile.

 

“Drawing and painting? Or some other discipline. “

 

“Drawing and painting. I think I wanted to be the next Van Gogh.”

 

“What, cut your ear off and send it to a prostitute?”

 

I could see that he was taking the piss and I liked it.

 

“Not exactly, I’m not that melancholic. But I love his use of colour, his boldness…sorry, I’m away again.”

 

“Are you any good?” asked Mycroft. He seemed genuinely interested.

 

“Yes, I am, but I don’t think I’d ever make a living from it, that’s why I’m going to train to be an art teacher. What about you? What will you read at Cambridge?”

 

“I’m doing a double first. PPE and History. My mother was a mathematician before she met my father, I think she’s disappointed that I have no talent in that direction.”

 

“it’s okay, I’m shit at maths too.” I reassured him, and he laughed.

 

Just then I heard someone scream my name. Mycroft and I both turned to see a girl with long red hair bearing down on us. Before I could stop her, she threw her arms around me and kissed me full on the mouth.

 

“Hi, Gracie,” I said, trying to disentangle myself.

 

“I haven’t seen you in ages!” she exclaimed. “Where have you been hiding? And who’s this?” she asked, indicating Mycroft who probably wished the floor would open up and swallow him.

 

“This is Mycroft. He’s a friend.”

 

“Hello,” said Grace, finally releasing me and running an appraising eye over Mycroft.

 

“Hello,” he replied, blushing.

 

Grace elbowed me none-too subtly in the ribs.

 

“Okay, I don’t want to be a third wheel. Give me a ring sometime, we need to catch up.”

 

“I will, “I reassured her and watched her walk away, her hips swaying as she fastened the shawl around her shoulders. She swayed in too-high heels and there was a ladder in her tights, but she drew admiring glances as she passed.

 

“Sorry about that,” I said apologetically. “That’s Grace. She’s brilliant but she’s got no boundaries.”

 

“Is she your girlfriend?” he blurted out. I could see hurt in his incredible blue eyes.

 

“Not anymore, “I reassured him. He didn’t look convinced, if anything he looked ready to bolt. I had already decided that I fancied him a hell of a lot, I wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

 

“I think we should talk, “I continued. “Let’s go for a drink.”

 

“What about the exhibition?” he asked, plainly bewildered.

 

“Sod it, it’ll still be here next week. This is more important.”

 

To my deep relief he followed me out of the gallery and we found ourselves in an upmarket wine bar around the corner.

 

As it was still early I ordered two spritzers, tried not to faint at the price and found a corner table. The bar was all chrome and glass with tubular steel tables and Mycroft and I sat uncomfortably, physically as well as mentally.

 

“I don’t know where to start,” Mycroft confessed. “The thing is, I really like you, Greg. I know I only just met you, and not under the best of circumstances, but I thought there was a mutual something. But you like girls and I’ve made an utter fool of myself.”

 

I sighed heavily.

 

“Mycroft, I like you too. I’ve always been gay. I fell in love with Grace when we started university together. I think I fell in love with her talent as a sculptor and her lust for life, really. We never had sex, it wasn’t that kind of relationship. Then she found herself a proper boyfriend and that was that. She’s still my friend though. “

 

He looked less than convinced, so I ploughed on.

 

“And I’m really pleased that you like me, frankly I think you’re gorgeous.”

 

He blushed, but he looked pleased all the same. Mycroft let his fingers trail onto the back of my hand. He turned it over so he touched the palm his thumb brushing across it one way, then the other.

 

“Thank you, “he said, as our fingers entwined on the table and my heartrate rocketed. “Shall we go back to the gallery?”

 

“No, not today,” I said firmly. “How about a walk in the park instead? You can buy me an ice-cream.”

 

 

“I think I can manage that, “he said with a smile. “Shall we?”

 

TBC

 

 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first kiss.

CHAPTER THREE

 

A/N: Warnings, etc in Chapter One

 

I was at work and, due to the warm summer weather, I had never been busier. Today would be my last day anyway, I had decided to give myself a couple of weeks holiday before I started teacher training. Summer jobs were not to be sneezed at in the current economic climate and I couldn’t afford to be snobby about working in an ice-cream van.

 

“What can I get you?” I asked the next customer, not really paying attention.

 

“Five minutes of your time would be nice.”

 

I almost dropped the ice cream scoop. There was Mycroft, smiling at me through the window. He was a contrast to the sweaty sunburned people who were my usual customers, he was wearing a white cotton shirt that was too big for him and sand coloured cotton trousers. He had taken off his sunglasses and his eyes were twinkling with mirth under his floppy red fringe.

 

“How did you know where I was?” I asked, all too conscious of being a bit sweaty and red in the face myself.

 

“I rang your house to speak to you and your mother told me where you’d be. When you said you had a summer job I never imagined…well…ice cream.”

 

“Hey,” I said, slightly annoyed. “That’s easy for you to say, when was the last time you ever worried about money?”

 

He held up his hands in a defensive gesture.

 

“I didn’t mean any disrespect, Greg. It’s just funny, especially after yesterday. Must have been a proper busman’s holiday for you.”

 

I smiled then. After the gallery debacle, he had bought me a lavish cone with a massive chocolate flake in it and sat with me on the park bench while I ate it as he sipped on a bottle of Perrier.

 

“Nah, “I said, “I’ll never get tired of ice cream. Sorry, Mycroft, I’m going to be busy here till at least four o’clock.”

 

“It’s fine, I merely wanted to know if you’d come with me to the cinema tonight? The Odeon is showing a double bill of Ealing comedies.”

 

I loved old cinema and prized some of the Ealing stuff above rubies.

 

“Tell me one of them is _Kind Hearts and Coronets_?”

 

“My favourite,” he agreed, smiling. “And _Passport to Pimlico”_

 

“Oi!” said an annoyed voice just out of view. “Some of us want to be served here. You two poofs sort out your shagging another time!”

 

Mycroft’s teasing smile vanished in an instant to be replaced by a hunted look.

 

“Seven o’clock?” he whispered.

 

“I’ll be there,” I replied and I watched him scurry away.

 

With murder in my heart, I forced a smile as the owner of the voice came into view. He was big, bald and tattooed and I saw, with great pleasure, that his head was badly sunburned. Suffer, you bastard, I thought.

 

“Give us two Mivvis,” he snarled. “I wanted two cornets but I might get AIDS off you.”

 

I handed him the two ice lollies, silently wishing he _had_ ordered ice cream so I could have spat in it.

 

I handed him his change which he took with bad grace and stormed off. A pleasant-faced lady with two small children was next.

 

“I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said softly. “That was awful, what he said.”

 

I shrugged because I thought if I spoke I might cry.

 

“It’s fine, “I finally croaked. “Now, what can I get you lovely people?” I smiled at the little ones and they giggled.

 

I was never more pleased to hand over the keys of the van to its owner and collect my last week’s wages. I promised him that, all being well, I would return next year and he laughed and hugged me.

 

Mum noticed my brooding when she got home. I told her about the ugly incident and how frightened Mycroft had been and she sighed.

 

“I’m not surprised he’s frightened after what happened to him. Some people are just horrible, they seek and embrace every prejudice they can find. I worry about you sometimes, Greg.”

 

“I know, Mum. But I can’t help being what I am.”

 

She merely nodded and squeezed my hand.

 

“Anyway, “I said, changing the subject entirely. “I got paid today. How do you fancy something from the chippy for tea?”

 

Her smile was answer enough.

 

Mycroft was waiting for me outside the cinema and I was pleased to see he looked relaxed and quite happy to be seen with me.

 

He bought the tickets and we sat, with mutually agreed grins, in the back row where he could stretch out his impossibly long legs. The house lights dimmed and the first picture began.

 

I was immediately engrossed, it had been an age since I had seen it but as Dennis Price spoke the immortal words,

 

“I shot an arrow in the air. She fell to earth in Berkley Square.”

 

Mycroft’s hand slipped into mine and squeezed it tight. I held it, my fingers entwined with his and lost all interest in the film, losing myself in him instead.

 

His eyes never wavered from the screen; his eyes, fringed with incredible long lashes, crinkled up when he laughed, which he did often, his divine mouth curved into a sweet smile and I knew I was utterly smitten.

 

I knew this could only be a summer fling, but it was like that corny song from Grease about it happening so fast. I would have to be bold.

 

When the lights came back on, we left the cinema. The summer light was draining from the sky as we crossed Leicester Square.

 

“I can get a bus from here,” I said. “Will you be all right getting home?”

 

“I’m not really in a hurry for this night to end, Greg,” he said seriously. “Not yet.”

 

There were very few people about, no one looking in our direction so I took his hand and led him into a narrow alley not far from the bus stop.

 

“I’m not either,” I admitted. “Can I kiss you?”

 

“I wish you would,” he sighed.

 

I leaned in and drew him close, cupping his face with one hand as my lips brushed his. Chastely at first, then his arms slipped round me and I deepened the kiss. He tasted of mint toothpaste and smelled of sunlight and I felt my senses reel as I backed him up against the wall as I continued to explore his sweet mouth.

 

I could feel him hard against my hip and I was in no better condition. I broke the kiss and looked him squarely in the eye.

 

“Mycroft…” Then I was lost for words.

 

“I want this too, “he breathed. “But not here. Not now.”

 

“No,” I agreed. “My mum’s working tomorrow night. Why don’t you come over and I can show you my artwork?”

 

He let out a hearty bray of laughter which took every ounce of tension out of the moment.

 

“Are you offering to show me your etchings, Mr Lestrade?”

 

I laughed softly. “Oldest pickup line in art school. Yes. Mum’s on nights, I’ll meet you at that wine bar you were talking about first, if that’s okay?”

 

He kissed me again briefly.

 

“Sounds perfect. I will see you tomorrow.”

 

Tomorrow couldn’t get here fast enough.

 

TBC

 

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> True confessions and a realisation that nothing lasts forever, so strike while the iron's hot.

CHAPTER FOUR

 

A/N: Warnings etc in Chapter One. This is where it gets explicit, folks. Fair warning.

 

Dedicated to my cheerleaders, egmon73 and lizlemner. Tomorrow has arrived. Also to my Tumblr peeps, heelofpatroclus and lavenderandvanilla who just know…

 

 

The wine bar was a mistake. I knew it as soon as I walked in the door to find it full to the brim with braying yuppies and Mycroft squashed in a corner nursing a bottle of Sol.

 

He brightened up when he saw me, but I could hardly hear him speak over the racket of the others.

 

“It’s too loud in here!” I yelled in his ear. He nodded and followed me out of the bar.

 

“Can’t hear yourself think, “I said once we were out on the pavement.

 

“Can you suggest somewhere else?” asked Mycroft.

 

“I know somewhere else, all right,” I replied. “Have you ever been to Soho?”

 

He looked alarmed and I smiled.

 

“Don’t panic, it’s one of the nicer gay pubs. Come on, they keep very good beer and it’s somewhere we can talk without anyone judging us.”

 

“That sounds perfect,” he said. He stood at the kerb and whistled down a black cab.

 

Mycroft’s reaction to The Windmill pretty much mirrored mine the first time I had ever set foot in it. His eyes were out on stalks at the sight of same-sex couples sitting holding hands, even kissing. There were other less savoury things going on, I knew, but this was one of the less edgy pubs, it lacked the fraught atmosphere I had come across in some of the places David had taken me.

 

To my amusement, though certainly not to his, he was asked for I.D. by the barman. He produced his wallet from his back pocket and rummaged through it, finally producing his driver’s license.

 

We took our drinks to a quiet table and sat side by side on the overstuffed chairs.

 

He took a sip of his red wine and barely grimaced.

 

“It’s quite nice in here,” he remarked. “I applaud your choice.”

 

I grinned and took his free hand in mine.

 

“Told you. No one will bother us in here. So, what have you been up to?”

 

“I’ve completed my reading list for Cambridge, so that’s out of the way. No doubt my mother will be checking.”

 

“No doubt. I need to ask you something, Mycroft. Do your parents know? Are you out to them?”

 

He looked like he might faint at the thought.

 

“No, they’ve got no idea,” he sighed. “My father keeps teasing me about how there will be plenty time for girls when I get to Cambridge, and Sherlock just teases me all the time anyway.”

 

“Remind me again how awful it is that I’m an only child?”

 

He smiled at that, but kept talking. I had a feeling he’d been wanting to say this to someone, _anyone_ , for a long time.

 

“The Holmes family has a long tradition of government service. I’m sure my parents would like me to continue that tradition, as well as carry on the family name. I fear they will be disappointed on both counts.”

 

“There’s always your little brother,” I reminded him.

 

His expression softened as it always did when he spoke of Sherlock.

 

“Sherlock will be something remarkable. He has an incredible scientific brain. And he could argue that a black crow was white and have you half-believing him. He could carry on the Holmes name, if he didn’t tell everyone he met that they were idiots.”

 

“He’ll grow out of that if he ever wants to get shagged.”

 

“I sincerely hope so.”

 

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?” I asked.

 

“No, not as such. If you’re asking, in a delicate way if I’m a virgin, I’m technically not. What you have to understand, Greg, is I was horrendously fat as a child. It’s only recently, since the weight has dropped off me, that people are starting to find me attractive. Though for the life of me, I can’t think why.”

 

“It’s the hair. And your eyes. And your beautiful skin.”

 

Mycroft wasn’t going to be diverted by that, though he did blush ever so slightly at the compliment.

 

“I attended an all-boys boarding school. What do you presume happens when you get a bunch of randy teenagers together with no other outlet?”

 

I didn’t reply. I knew a rhetorical question when I heard one.

 

“We would wank each other off. It served as an excretory function, a pressure valve, if you like.”

 

“Sounds delightful,” I muttered into my beer.

 

“About six months ago, there was this other boy. He liked me to get him off, I think he knew what I was so we took it a lot further than before. I really wasn’t ready for it, we were both playing with fire and it hurt.”

 

He couldn’t look at me, burying his face in his wineglass. I was horrified.

 

“Did he…” The elephant in the room was the ‘R’ word and it hung there, unspoken.

 

“No, it was entirely consensual, I can assure you. However, I decided that maybe I didn’t need a physical relationship.”

 

He looked deep into my eyes at that point and said.

 

“Then I met you and I haven’t been able to think of anything else. You excite me, Greg. I know that you and I will be temporary at best, with the best will in the world it can’t be any other way, but if I’m going to lose my technical virginity, I want it to be with you.”

 

“I’m flattered.” I said, still dazed from his revelations. “And I agree. In a week, you’ll be in Cambridge and I’ll be, well, here. Let’s make the most of it while we can.”

 

“I’ll get us another drink, “said Mycroft, getting to his feet and picking up our empty glasses. “Then it’s your turn for true confessions.”

 

While he was at the bar, I debated with myself, but realised, after he had been so honest with me, nothing but the absolute truth would do.

 

He set a pint in front of me and held my hand again.

 

“Your turn,” he said, curiosity gleaming in his blue eyes.

 

“Well, you met Grace. She was my first and only girlfriend. Then I met David. He was a friend of one of our tutors at college. We met at an art school party and it was lust at first sight. He was a lot older than me, in his late thirties at the time, but he was gorgeous and I was more than willing. He taught me how to fuck and how to be fucked. I think I fell a little in love with him.”

 

Mycroft squeezed my hand. “What happened?”

 

“He wanted an open relationship. That was code for a free pass to fuck anything that fluttered their eyelashes at him. But I couldn’t share him, that kind of thing just wasn’t for me. So, we broke up. Mum was relieved, Dad threatened to arrest him for being a cunt in a built-up area. I never saw him again.”

 

I realised I sounded awfully bitter but I was truly over him now, ever since I had helped a beaten young man to sanctuary.

 

“I don’t know what the hell he was thinking,” said Mycroft incredulously. “Why would he ever want anyone but you?”

 

“You’re partial, “I laughed, and swallowed a long draught of my beer.

 

“You mentioned your Dad. “

 

“Yeah, he died a year ago. He was a sergeant in the Met. Thunderclap heart attack, dead before he hit the floor. “

 

“I’m sorry, I can’t imagine what it must be like to lose a parent.”

 

I mentally shook myself.

 

“I think we’ve aired enough dirty linen for one night, don’t you?”

 

“It’s certainly cleared one or two things up, yes,” agreed Mycroft.

 

We sipped our drinks and chatted about other things, but our minds weren’t really on conversation.

 

“So,” I said as the night was drawing on and the pub was filling up. “Why don’t you come back to my house?”

 

“Yes, I’d like that very much,” Mycroft replied. I leaned closer and kissed him gently on the mouth.

 

“Let’s go,”

 

When we got to my street we were almost running and my hands shook as I put the key in the door, locking it firmly behind me.

 

I took Mycroft in my arms and gave him the kind of kiss I had been dying to give him all night and he responded with alacrity, fumbling with the buttons on my shirt as I pressed him up against the wall.

 

“Upstairs,” I managed to grunt and pulled him up there to my bedroom. I had taken the precaution of changing the sheets and generally tidying up but it was still cluttered with canvases and other paraphernalia but when I looked at Mycroft, his hair rumpled and his lips reddened with kisses, I knew he didn’t care.

 

I pulled him onto the bed beside me and kissed him again, holding him as close as I could, pulling his shirt off and kissing every inch of pale, freckled skin as it was revealed.

 

I made myself stop and he looked at me quizzically.

 

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do,” I promised him. “And I will never hurt you.”

 

“I trust you,” he whispered.

 

I stripped off my own shirt and we lay clasped breast to breast as my hand slid between his legs, his erection like living stone against my touch and it made him moan aloud.

 

I unzipped him and he wriggled out of his jeans and underwear as I kissed his chest, nuzzling the soft, red hair that grew there, moving from one nipple to the other and tonguing them into stiff peaks. I kissed my way down his midline to his navel and licked it, and he gasped. His erection lay stiff against his soft belly and I stroked it gently as my other hand cupped his balls.

 

Mycroft was inarticulate by now, his breathing ragged in my bedroom. I took his cock in my mouth and sucked on it hungrily, sliding my lips up and down his length. I felt his hands grasp my hair and I knew he was close.

 

“Greg…” he hissed in warning, and he came with a sobbing cry but I was ready; he burst on my palate like a ripe fruit and I swallowed every drop, milking him dry.

 

I let his cock slip out of my mouth and moved up to kiss him.

 

“That was incredible!” he exclaimed, when he regained the power of speech. “what about you?”

I took off my own trousers, freeing my own neglected erection and guided one of his long-fingered hands to grip it.

 

“I won’t last a second, you’ve got me so turned on.” I warned him.

 

I lay back against the pillows and watched him, he had a lovely touch and it wasn’t long before I was incoherent myself, fisting the sheets in my sweaty hands as I came long and hard over his hand and my own stomach.

 

“Wow,” was all I could think of to say, but he smiled and blushed and I was delighted to see that his whole body turned pink when he did so.

 

We lay wrapped in each other’s arms, dozing, touching each other as if to convince ourselves it was real.

 

“I can’t stay,” said Mycroft, stirring in my embrace.

 

“I know,” I replied. “I’d love to spend the night with you, but my mum wouldn’t like it if she found you here in the morning.”

 

“And the last thing I want to do is upset her, “he said regretfully. Watching him pull his clothes on was almost as erotic as taking them off and I was tempted to invite him to stay for another go, but I didn’t.

 

He gave me a long, tender kiss goodbye before leaving, promising to phone tomorrow.

 

When I heard the taxi door close I wrapped myself in the duvet, imagining I could still smell Mycroft in its cloth folds and when I finally drifted off to sleep, I was smiling.

 

TBC


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bittersweet ending for both of them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has liked or commented on this. You rock, sincerely, and it keeps me inspired.

CHAPTER FIVE

 

A/N: Warnings and whatnot in Chapter One.

 

I didn’t get a phone call the next morning. Instead I got the real thing at my door with a shy smile on his face and a bakery bag in his hand which smelt heavenly.

 

“Morning,” he said. “Can I come in?”

 

“Yeah, of course,” I replied, standing aside to let him past.

 

“Is your mum here?” he asked.

 

I shook my head and he grinned.

 

“Good.”

 

Before I knew where I was, he was in my arms and I was being thoroughly kissed.

 

I gently untangled myself from him while explaining at the same time that my mum had only gone down the road for a pint of milk and was due back any time, while resisting the urge to drag him upstairs.

 

About ten minutes later, Mum came back to find us in the living room, drinking black coffee and eating croissants while Mycroft leafed through my degree portfolio. He looked impressed and I tried not to look too smug. The work in there had earned me a first-class degree and I was very proud of it.

 

Mycroft got to his feet the minute Mum walked in the room. I could see she approved of his excellent manners.

 

“Hello, Mycroft. What a lovely surprise. Sit down, love. How’s your ribs?”

 

“Still quite tender,” he admitted “My face is almost healed thanks to you.”

 

“No thanks necessary, though if you didn’t leave me any of those croissants, I might black your other eye.”

 

He laughed and offered her what was left in the bag before returning to my work.

 

“You have an incredible eye for detail,” he said admiringly. “Some of this stuff is exceptional. Are you sure you couldn’t make a living out of this? I don’t know, portrait painting or something?”

 

“Only if I want to starve in a garret. I know I said I wanted to be the next Vincent van Gogh but I’d prefer the recognition when I’m still alive. No, I think I’m better teaching and inspiring the next generation of artists. You never know what I might discover.”

 

“It still seems a waste,” he muttered. “You could do anything with talent like that. They do PGCE’s at Cambridge.”

 

“Leave it, Mycroft,” warned my mum. “His dad and I tried to talk him out of teaching. His dad wanted him to join the force, I just want him to be happy. And if teaching is what makes him happy, then fine.”

 

“You’d make an excellent detective,” he said, eyeing me from across the room, my work forgotten in his lap. “You can get people to open up to you and, again, that eye for every little detail.”

 

“If you’ve both quite finished,” I retorted huffily. “Can we talk about something else?”

 

Mum snorted and went through to the kitchen to make more coffee.

 

“Greg, I came here for a reason,” said Mycroft urgently the minute she left the room. “I had a phone call last night, just after I got home. My parents are coming back tomorrow to take me to Cambridge.”

 

“You’re kidding!” I wailed. “I thought we had more time than that?”

 

“So did I,” he continued, grimly. “This could be our last night together. Them coming back will only make things a million times more complicated. Will you come and stay the night with me? Please?”

 

“Of course I will,” I said, without a second thought and he smiled.

 

“What will you tell your mum?”

 

“The truth. I don’t lie to her. Well, not very often. Anyway, she likes you, she won’t mind.”

 

“Will you wait till I’ve gone before you tell her?”

 

“Yeah, all right,” I chuckled. “Just make sure you say goodbye properly to her before you go.”

 

When my mum came back in, Mycroft got to his feet.

 

“Goodbye, Mrs Lestrade,” he said formally, extending his hand for her to shake. “I probably won’t see you again, I’m going to Cambridge tomorrow. I just want to thank you for everything you did for me.”

 

“Oh! Well, good luck for the future, Mycroft. It’s been lovely knowing you.”

 

She gave me a look that meant we would be having words about this later.

 

“I’ll see you out,” I said, getting up as well.

 

Just behind the front door he told me his address and that he would be waiting for me any time after seven. We parted with a deep and tender kiss and I watched him all the way along the road until he vanished from sight.

 

“So,” said Mum when I went back into the living room and gathered up my artwork. “He’s leaving. Does that mean it’s over between you two?”

 

“Not quite,” I replied. “I’m staying with him tonight. I’ll be gone before his parents get back and _then_ it’ll be over.”

 

I hadn’t meant to sound bitter, but that’s how it came out. I was bitter and heartsore and there was a lump in my chest that was threatening to choke me.

 

“I’m sorry, love. “she said, putting her arms around me.

 

“I just thought we’d have had a little bit longer. One night isn’t long enough to say goodbye.” I sniffed.

 

“It’s more than a lot of people get, darling,” she said, ruffling my hair like she used to when I was a kid. “So, make the most of it. Treat Mycroft properly, leave both of you with some good memories then, for heaven’s sake Greg, let him go.”

 

“You’re right, “I sighed. “That’s going to be the hard part.”

 

I was late. Belgravia isn’t my home turf so I got hopelessly lost but I found the house eventually and damn near turned around and went home. It was _massive_ and reeked of old money. Nervously I walked up the gravel drive and rang the doorbell.

 

Mycroft came to the door and smiled when he saw me. He looked incredible in what I thought were silk pyjamas, confirmed when I kissed him hello. His hair was still damp from a recent shower and he smelled gorgeous

 

“Hang your jacket up there,” he said pointing to an honest-to-goodness cloakroom. I did as I was told and followed him into the living room. It was vast, you could have fit our entire house in it and it was decorated in soothing tones of grey and pale blue. In one corner was a baby grand piano.

 

“Do you play?” I asked, indicating it.

 

“Tolerably well, “he said, which I understood to mean just below concert hall standard. ” Sherlock’s the musician in the family. He does his own composing as well. On the violin, though. He’s got no time for the piano, he’s much more at home with just four strings.”

 

If I had been Sherlock, I just might have been insulted.

 

“I got take away from the Jade Palace. I thought you might be hungry.”

 

“Starving, actually. That’s my favourite. How did you know?”

 

“You mentioned it once, I remembered. Emperor’s Banquet for two?”

 

“Lovely,” I said with an anticipatory grin.

 

“Come into the kitchen then,” he said.

 

My mum would have sold a kidney for a kitchen like that, I thought.

 

Mycroft handed me a pair of chopsticks and invited me to help myself to the bags arranged on the granite countertop. It was wonderful food and, between the two of us, we managed to do it justice.

 

He uncorked a bottle of wine and handed me a glass of red so dark it was almost black.

 

“Very nice, “I said appreciatively as I sipped it. I wasn’t much of a wine lover, but this one was fruity and not too sweet. Mycroft didn’t hesitate to top me up either.

 

We took our glasses into the living room where Mycroft switched on the side lamps and joined me on the sofa. I put my arms around him and kissed him, relishing the taste of wine and soy sauce on his tongue. He moved closer till he was in my lap and I slid my hands inside his pyjamas to stroke his beautiful warm skin and he arched against me.

 

I made short work of his pyjamas and he didn’t hesitate to strip me either, his long fingers trailing over me, exploring, stroking, stimulating. I kissed him again, plundering the wet heat of his mouth, laying him on his back, our erections brushing together as he held me close.

 

“I want you to fuck me, Greg,” he whispered.

 

“Are you sure?” I asked.

 

“Yes, I’m sure.”

 

How could I refuse?

 

I had come equipped, vital preparation in this day and age. I fished the packet of condoms and the lubricant out of my trouser pocket and returned to Mycroft’s arms. Gently, I turned him onto his stomach.

 

“This won’t pull on your ribs,” I reassured him. “And I want you to enjoy this, sweetheart. Do you trust me?”

 

“You know I do.”

 

I kissed all the way down his back till I came to the divine curve of his arse. Carefully I parted the cheeks and ran my tongue over the entrance to his body.

 

He writhed under me, soft, breathy moans encouraging my efforts as my tongue gently penetrated him. I swirled it around and heard him gasp. I remembered this was new to him so I carefully withdrew and sat back on my heels.

 

I opened the lubricant and applied a generous amount to my fingers. As I slid one inside him, he hissed.

 

“Am I hurting you?” I asked.

 

“No, it just feels strange. Good, but strange. Don’t stop.”

 

A second finger joined the first, stretching him, preparing him, scissoring my fingers apart to open him up. Slowly, I withdrew them and rolled on a condom, lubricating that as well. I put my hands on his hips and lifted them from the sofa. Slowly I entered him, giving him time to adjust, being in his slick heat was almost enough to make me come right there and then.

 

“Are you okay?” I asked. He merely nodded.

 

I began to move slowly inside him, encouraged by his soft cries of pleasure and the way he pushed back against me. I went deeper, my name a litany on his lips then he begged me to touch him. In a couple of strokes, he climaxed and, as he tightened around me, I came long and hard, crying out his name.

 

I eased out of him and held him close to me, smearing his semen over us both, mingled with our sweat, soothing him as he came back down from his orgasm.

 

“That was fucking amazing,” said Mycroft, his eyes dark with pleasure. He kissed the corner of my jaw. “Thank you, love.”

 

When we began to feel cold, we migrated upstairs, first to the bathroom where we shared a steaming hot shower, then to his bedroom where we got each other all hot and sweaty again on fresh cotton sheets.

 

It was getting close to dawn when we finally had our fill of each other and Mycroft drifted off to sleep in my arms but I knew I couldn’t stay. Once he was sound asleep, I kissed him for the last time, edged out of the bed and went to hunt for my clothes.

 

In my jacket pocket, I found the letter it had taken me most of the day to write, and I left it on the coffee table where he would be sure to see it when he got up.

 

The front door closed behind me with a decisive click and I trudged down the path.

 

The sun was shining in my eyes, it had to be. It was the only reason for them to be watering.

 

_I picture him waking up and finding me gone. He’ll check the house and that’s when he’ll find the letter. I couldn’t cope with saying goodbye face to face, so I wrote it instead._

_‘My dearest Mycroft,_

_I know I will probably never see you again. I’m sorry that I didn’t stay, but I think you’ll understand why. I hope you have a brilliant life. I want you to know that you were the best thing that ever happened to me and I hope I made you happy in the brief time we had. Last night was perfect, I couldn’t think of a better way to say goodbye._

_My love always_

_Greg’_

_xxxxx_

 The End.


End file.
